


Injuries and siblings

by Tisaniere



Series: The Argent-Hale Family [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Family, Family Feels, M/M, Peter and Chris are parents, dad!chris, dad!peter, fluff basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:11:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tisaniere/pseuds/Tisaniere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Chris are married and raising three kids (adopted son Scott and Peter's niece Cora and nephew Derek), with all the challenges that family life bring up.</p><p>Injuries and Siblings - Scott can't seem to stop slamming his face against inanimate objects and Derek gets uppity about it all. </p><p>- </p><p>“I didn’t see it coming,” he mumbled from behind the cold press that Peter was holding on his nose.</p><p>“A closed door? You didn’t see a closed door coming?”</p><p>“Out of nowhere!” Scott insisted balefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Injuries and siblings

**Author's Note:**

> I just can't stop writing these, I just love Petopher family fluff too much, gah! 
> 
> -
> 
> Warning: I'm not sure if it's needed but there is a very loose reference to child abuse. Only figuratively speaking, but just sticking it here in case.

Living in a house with two teenage boys meant that Peter and Chris dealt with injuries on at least a weekly basis. The two of them - and the Sheriff, the only other person they ever really discussed this parenting lark with - had concluded that having a teenage boy meant knowing what it was like to take a trip to ER every now and then. 

There was the time that Scott had climbed on a chair to reach cereal at the back of the top cupboard, slipped, fell and slammed his nose against the side of the counter. Peter had spent a good few hours sat in an uncomfortable ER chair that day, drenched in so much blood that he’d looked like he’d bellyflopped onto a ketchup bottle.

There was the time Derek had been tackled in a tense Beacon County basketball match, tripped over a burly player’s outstretched leg and slammed shoulder-first into the floor. That had been an even lengthier ER trip with multiple x-rays to establish whether he had fractured his collarbone. Chris had taken that one, but regretted it afterwards when he found out that an unsupervised Peter back at the school had menaced the referee for not giving a harsher penalty.

Scott was particularly accident-prone: alongside a broken nose he had also fractured his wrist playing lacrosse, had an asthma attack on a school trip to Disneyland, fallen down a manhole, scraped his knees up so badly that one time he tried skateboarding that he almost needed a skin graft, chipped a tooth playing baseball with Stiles and Derek and finally, the most recent injury, smacked his face against a solid oak door.

“I didn’t see it coming,” he mumbled from behind the cold press that Peter was holding on his nose.

“A closed door? You didn’t see a _closed door_ coming?”

“Out of nowhere!” Scott insisted balefully.

“What were you two idiots _doing_?” Peter asked, turning to look at a sheepish Stiles. His friend was so accident prone that he was pretty good at initial first aid. As long as it didn’t involve needles, he was there for his buddy, and Peter had found him knelt by a stunned Scott’s side pinching his nose to stop the bleeding.

“We were playing real-life Halo,” Stiles mumbled.

“In the house?”

“We were going outside and then, well, Scott ran into a door.”

“This is your own house Scott,” Peter said with an exasperated groan, “How do you not know where all the doors are?”

“You never close the dining room door. It’s always open.”

“Yes but I was working from home today and needed somewhere quiet to work.”

He couldn’t sit in the office with Chris any longer. His husband had an annoying habit of waiting until he was just settled into the rhythm of something or finally grasping complicated figures, then he’d ask a completely distracting question, or turn the radio on, or go to make coffee, and it’d take hours for Peter to get back into his zone. His ideal work environment would be a sensory deprivation chamber because he was too easily distracted by everything and anyone.

Chris re-entered the living room holding the phone in one hand and another ice pack in the other.

“Think it’s broken?”

Peter peeled away the first cold press and took a look, “Hard to tell”

“It really hurts,” Scott whined, his eyes filled with tears.

“I know, I know,” Peter sighed, putting one hand on the back of Scott’s head gently as he touched the cold pack to the sore nose again, “But you’ve already broken it once, it’s no doubt extra sensitive.”

“My head hurts too.”

“Where?”

Scott pointed with a finger and nearly jabbed himself in the eye. Peter ran a thumb over the impressive lump forming on his son’s brow, “Would you look at that, another bruise to add to your collection.”

“Do you feel sick, Scott?” Chris asked as he crouched down in front of him.

“No, not really.”

“Got a headache?”

“Yeah. A really bad one.”

“Well no wonder, you did run into a locked door.”

“It’s a really hard door,” Scott whimpered.

“It is, it is,” Chris sighed. He took the other cold press in his hand and gently touched it to the bruise on his head.

“We need an extra pair of arms to look after you sometimes, Scott.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott said.

Peter gave him a wan smile, “Don’t worry about it, it’s our job.”

“Do I have to go to the ER?”

“I don’t know. Depends if your nose might be broken again. You feeling dizzy?”

“Not really. Just a bit…weird.”

“Well banging your head would do that. Let’s just give it a minute and see how your nose looks.”

 

* * *

 

“Why do they make these chairs so uncomfortable?” Peter growled. He shifted in the hideous plastic contraption that Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital called a chair. It suddenly groaned underneath him and he and Chris both looked down at it cautiously.

“I’m not sure they’re meant to take your weight.”

“Hey,” Peter snapped, digging a finger into Chris’s side.

“You know it’s all muscle,” Chris said, not bothering to look away from his magazine, “Don’t start trying to fish for compliments.”

“You’re the one that just said I was too fat for this chair.”

“No, I didn’t, I said that you were too _heavy_ for it. Heavy is different than fat. You’re heavier than me because you’re broader and you’ve got more muscle. You don’t have an ounce of fat on you.”

Peter preened quietly to himself and they went back into a state of bored, silent inertia as they waited for Scott’s doctor to find them.

“I can’t believe we’re in the ER again.”

Chris grunted.

“We’re going to have to be a bit careful about this, you know.”

“Why?”

“Well this is the second time Scott has been in the ER this month.”

“When was the…oh yeah, the coffee table thing. But he hadn’t been for a while before that.”

“You know what some people can be like though. Busybodies.”

“He’s a teenage boy, Peter, this is what they do best. And Scott is as accident-prone as they come.”

“ _We_ know that, but you never know who might suspect the worst.”

Just then the doctor emerged, holding his clipboard and a friendly smile, “Scott Argent-Hale’s parents?”

“That’s us.”

“You can come through and see him now.”

 

* * *

 

It turned out that Scott hadn’t in fact broken his nose, simply heavily bruised the already tender bit of his face that had been broken once before. There was no sign of concussion and the impressive egg on his head would go down with time and icepacks.

“The best thing to do is to keep his nose cold with ice and cold presses. Don’t take any hot showers or baths, Scott, it’ll just make your nose swell up worse. The tape is just to keep it as still as possible, once it falls off naturally you should be able to manage without it. Try sleeping on your back and try your best not to sneeze.”

“Oh god now I really want to sneeze,” Scott moaned, one hand cupped over his bandaged nose.

“And don’t touch it,” Chris said, lifting Scott’s hand way from his face by the wrist, “I’m pretty sure that’s Doctor Allen’s number one tip.”

“It is indeed. He’s on quite strong painkillers at the moment so, Dads, it’s your responsibility to keep an eye on him whilst they work through his system. He can sleep and eat whenever he wants, just don’t leave him unattended for the next twenty four hours. Once the strong stuff has filtered through his system you can give him the painkiller tablets I’m prescribing him, if he needs them. But keep an eye on how he takes them, it’s strong stuff.”

“Will do Doctor.”

“Scott told me that he ran into a door.”

“Into our heavy, old oak dining room door.”

“I didn’t know you’d locked it,” Scott bleated.

“He ran around the corner and slammed straight into it,” Peter told the doctor, “Like Wiley Coyote. I think there might even be a Scott-shaped dent in that door now.”

“Yeah well there’s a door shaped dent in my nose,” Scott scowled, “That’s worse, Pop.”

“You don’t know how much that door cost. Now _that’d_ make your eyes water.”

“Thank you, Doctor Allen,” Chris said to the doctor over the din of the argument as to whether Scott’s nose or their living room door was more damaged by the incident, “We’re just relieved that it’s not broken again.”

“Yes I saw on his records he has a history of hitting his face against things. No breaks this time though, but obviously his nose may be a bit more sensitive to these things now,” the doctor turned to leave the room, “That’s teenage boys for you, they think they are indestructible. I’ve got one myself and he’s in here more than I am. Word of warning: I have a twenty five year old son as well, and they don’t grow out of it.”

Chris tried not to look as relieved as he felt that this doctor was smart enough to see Scott was an accident-prone kid and not a red flag. He chuckled, “A twenty five year old? I wouldn’t believe it.”

The Doctor laughed in a self-deprecating way, "A twenty five year old, a fifteen year old, and an eight year old. Believe me, I know what boys get up to."

“So we can expect Scott to be smacking his face against things for the foreseeable future then?”

“For a while, I’m afraid. Wait until he starts driving, that’s when the fear as a father really gets you.”

“Then we shall probably be seeing you in the near future, Doctor Allen.”

“Probably. Bye Scott.”

“Bye doctor.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, Doctor Allen was nice.”

Chris gave Peter a glance out of the corner of his eye. It was dark and blissfully quiet in their car on the drive home from the ER. It was late, and they’d rung the Sheriff to ask if he could drop in on Cora and Derek for them at some point to make sure they were alright. Peter had sent a quick text to Derek to tell him that everything was ok and they were heading home, and that Cora had better be in bed by the time they got back because she had soccer practice before school. Scott was snoozing in the back seat as Chris drove. His head was pillowed on his Dad’s coats and his blue and black face was relaxed.

“Yes. And?”

Peter raised his eyebrows and twirled a finger in the air, “Nothing, I just thought I saw…well, you rather liked him.”

Chris tried to hold back a groan, “This is because I said you were too heavy for the chair earlier, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“You’re punishing me for it.”

“Not at all. I agree with you, he was a good looking guy.”

“So? He was Scott’s doctor. And that is exactly how I spoke to him.”

“ _Really_?”

“What?”

“‘Oh gee Doctor Allen, you look _far_ too young to have a twenty five year old son.”

“I have never said ‘oh gee’ in my life.”

“Oh come on, you were batting your eyelashes and practically curtseying.”

“I really wasn’t. And anyway, I certainly don’t flirt like a 1900s debutante.”

“How would you know? I’m the only one you’ve ever flirted with.”

“You certainly are _not_.”

“Out of anyone present in the car right now is what I meant.”

“I was not flirting with the doctor!”

They sat in silence for a moment, both of them on the verge of laughter. Peter slid a hand onto Chris’s leg.

“Ok so maybe you weren’t flirting.”

“Thank you.”

“Maybe you were just relieved that he was smart enough to not jump to the worst and think we beat our son.”

“Of course.”

“Which is horrible in its own way, but there we go. I talked to Scott when you went to sign his papers and, apparently, the doctor did ask him a few questions about his trips to ER. Seems whatever Scott said satisfied them, thank god."

"That's good."

"And I’m also sorry for dissing your flirting.”

“Thank you.”

The silence stretched for a while.

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what are _you_ sorry for?”

Chris gave a long suffering sigh, “And I am sorry for saying that the chair couldn’t take your weight.”

“Thank you,” Peter said sweetly. He leant across and pecked Chris on the cheek.

“I also apologise for saying you have no fat on you. I’ve felt every inch of you and I have to say that in some places…”

The hand on the knee squeezed painfully, “Stop talking now or I throw you out of the car.”

When they pulled into the driveway they looked over their shoulders onto the back seat and watched Scott drooling on their coats for a moment.

“As relieved as I am that he hasn’t broken his nose again, or got a concussion, I am oddly more relieved that we didn’t get pulled aside to go through why he is in the ER so much.”

Chris sighed and rubbed at his sore neck. Damn those ER chairs, “I know what you mean.”

“It’s awful feeling judged all the time when it comes to him.”

“He’s been ours for seven years. I think we can safely say that they think we can look after him.”

“We’re good parents, aren’t we?” Peter asked, looking across at Chris, “I mean, actually ‘good’? Not just adequate?”

“Peter,” Chris said, resting his forehead against his husband’s, “I know I say this as we bring our son home from the ER for second time this month, but we are good parents. Very good.”

* * *

 

“What the hell?!” Derek cried as he stormed up the hallway towards them. Peter and Chris blinked back at him, surprised by this sudden and angry outburst instead of a hello.

“What?”

“‘All ok. See you soon’. What the hell kind of text is that after Scott’s just been to the _hospital_?”

“Er…a text to tell you everything is ok and that we were heading home.”

“I can’t believe you two! How does Scott manage to get taken to the ER _again_ , the _second_ time this month?”

Chris opened his mouth to answer but Derek barrelled on, “And then when he does you don’t even bother to _tell_ me, you get the Sheriff to do it! The _Sherrif_! You think that was fun, opening the door to Sheriff Stilinski telling me that Scott had gone to the ER? _He_ didn’t even really know why! And I tried to call you and you guys _didn’t pick up_.”

“Well-”

“You _always_ do this, you demand that we keep in touch with you all the time and god forbid we forget our phones or they run out of charge or we forget to text you every ten minutes to tell you that we’re still breathing. But when something actually happens and we need to talk to you, you guys go all quiet and we never hear anything from you and we don’t know what’s going on!”

“Derek, Scott only-”

“And instead of telling me what happened to Scott so that I don’t worry anymore, all you tell me is to make sure Cora is in bed! Like I don’t know that already! She’s eleven, of _course_ she has to be in bed by ten. Do you really think _I’m_ that irresponsible? But of course I can’t get her to go to bed because we still don’t know what’s wrong with Scott and she’s worried about him and I’m worried about him because you two won’t say anything! And this is, what, the tenth time this has happened? Why don’t you watch Scott more?  Maybe he’s too stupid to be left on his own, maybe you should tell him once in a while to stop doing dangerous things, maybe you should pay more attention to him, you’re his parents for gods sake, my god you two are so _irresponsible_!”

With that Derek glared at them, the kind of glare that made one's heart stop, and stormed upstairs. Peter, Chris, Scott and Cora - who was perched on one of the stairs in her pyjamas - waited until there was a hearty slam of a bedroom door upstairs. Cora picked at a bit of fluff off her sleeve.

“He’s been kind of freaking out all evening.”

Peter and Chris felt themselves  deflate.

“We told him it was nothing serious.”

“Oh I believed you, I know what a klutz Scott is. And I was happy to go to bed, by the way. But I wanted to keep an eye on Derek. I thought he might break something. What did you do this time bozo?”

“I ran into a door.”

Cora threw her head back and laughed, “Nice. I’m off to bed. Night night Peter, night night Chris, night night doofus.”

Her bedroom door shut quietly upstairs.

“Can I go to bed too? I’m tired.”

“Er, sure, sure. Peter, take Scott to bed and I’ll…” Chris waved a hand up the stairs.

“Come on Scotty boy, let’s get you set up in bed the way we did when you broke your nose.”

At the top of the stairs Peter and Scott turned to Scott’s bedroom and Chris to Derek’s.

“Good luck,” Peter muttered under his breath and gave Chris a reassuring kiss before scurrying away with Scott.

Chickenshit, Chris thought.

 

* * *

“He was really that angry?”

Peter handed the Sheriff another beer. He sat down next to Chris at the kitchen island where they had all drawn up stools and his husband slipped an arm around his waist.

Derek and Cora were asleep upstairs, and Stiles and Scott were pretending to be asleep whilst actually playing Nintendo under the covers. The three men were sharing beers and any snack food left in the cupboards because it was a Saturday night and damn it they’d earned it. The Sheriff was out of his uniform and had his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“Yeah, he blew up at us. I don’t get it.”

John shook his head, “Kids get funny about that kind of thing. They feel…I don’t know, protective of their parents. And they hold them to account. Stiles does it too.”

“Well at least it’s not just Derek.”

“Stiles gets mad when he sees me even look at red meat. And he’s always telling me I should be home more.”

“Maybe it’s because they’ve lost family before,” Chris said, running a finger around the body of his beer bottle, “They’re extra protective of what they have left.”

Peter hummed in thought, “I don’t think so. I remember Talia blowing up at our parents a few times when I did stupid stuff, when really it was nothing at all. I once went to a party at our brother Benji’s friend’s place and Talia hit the roof. She gave my parents a lecture on keeping an eye on me ‘at my age’ and drove over herself to find me, collar me and bring me home.”

“I can understand her concern,” John grunted into his beer, “You were a menace Peter Hale.”

“Me?” Peter asked, aghast, hand on heart.

“He really was,” Chris said with a shake of his head, “Talia did well to offer to keep an extra eye on you. Your parents didn’t have enough eyes, arms or death threats between them to keep you in line. Didn’t the others help drag you out of parties too?”

Peter shook his head, “They tried but only Talia could even hope to keep up with me. Benji was useless and way too trusting. Rebecca didn’t have the patience. But Talia was a force to be reckoned with, even for me.”

“And then she started dating Alexander, and you had to be extra devious,” Chris chuckled. He threw another packet of chips into the emptied bowl.

“Alexander could sniff a lie a mile away. He had a habit of turning up at places I wanted to be just before I got there. When they got married it was like having a full time security detail. My mother was delighted.”

“I’m sure the newlyweds who had to go to Mexico to get you out of that sticky situation with the gambling den were delighted, too.”

Peter scowled as he swallowed a mouthful of beer, “We don’t talk about Mexico.”

John waggled a finger between him and Chris, “We do.”

“A lot.”

“It keeps me going on rough days at the office.”

“Shut up, both of you, or you’re not getting any more chips.” Peter hugged the bowl to his chest, “Anyway, we weren’t talking about _me_ , we were talking about the kids. What I’m saying is that maybe it’s an oldest child thing. Or an only child thing. You feel like you share your parents’ responsibility for the younger kids.”

“Being an overprotective sibling.”

“It’s like being overprotective but…it’s not, is it? It’s feeling like the parents aren’t doing their job and you have to step in. Even though nine times out of ten it isn’t true.”

“You ever do that for Kate, Chris?” John asked.

“My father let Kate get away with murder from day one. If I had to step in every day he let her do something stupid that she shouldn’t be doing, I’d have been exhausted. Plus I’d never dare tell my Dad to do anything, not if I wanted to ever leave the house again.”

“That’s because your Dad was a militant jackass,” John said darkly.

“See, your Dad had it all wrong, we aren’t at all like him. We look after our kids without letting them get away with murder, but we still let them have fun and learn stuff for themselves.”

“Here’s to not being militant jackass Dads.”

They clinked beer bottles together and proceeded to drink so much that they got the dirtiest, most disapproving glare from Derek when he found them all asleep at the kitchen island and covered in chips the next morning.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've a new Tumblr at the moment...a tad bored and lonely over there so feel free to come find me: [Sherlockingandfoxing](http://http://sherlocking-and-foxing.tumblr.com)


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